Just like a family
by yeyavailability
Summary: AU. Bakura abuses Ryou--but they already know they're in love with each other. Oneshot. NC, child abuse.


It was a nice day. It was spring and the weather was nice, clear skies and a brilliant sun. Ryou had someone who he loved and loved him back. It was a very good day.

"I promise, Ryou," Bakura whispered. "I promise it won't hurt."

_Ryou was ten again, and Bakura's lips were upon his. His brother was running his hands over his skin, dipping past the hemline of his jeans. Ryou gasped, giggling lightly at the feeling. "Feels funny," he commented, grinning brightly. Eleven year old Bakura returned the smile._

_"It's going to feel different later on," he said, "and I'll make sure you feel it to the fullest."_

_"Will it hurt?" Ryou asked. Bakura didn't pause, stroking at the flesh on his brother's hips._

_"Don't worry, Ryou, dad taught me," he assured. His shifted his hands so he could work at the zipper of Ryou's jeans, pulling them down when he was done. "You just have to use a lot of this stuff..." he bent down to get a small pocket of something peculiar, almost like gel._

_"Don't you bathe with that?" Ryou asked, frowning at the substance._

_Bakura laughed. "You shouldn't put that anywhere else! Here, I'll show you where it goes..."_

"No," Ryou sobbed, "no no _no_..."

Bakura smacked him against the pillow, and Ryou sobbed harder at the sting. "Don't be such a kid, Ryou!" Bakura growled, the needle positioned dangerously above Ryou's throat—but his other hand trailed down Ryou's back gently, lovingly. "I promise it won't hurt." He made soothing patterns down the line of Ryou's spine, tracing over the picture in his mind with his fingertips. "See this?" he held up the needle even if Ryou couldn't see it, sparing the boy it's terrifying glint as it caught against the sunlight from the window. "It's an aesthetic. It'll take a moment to sink in, but after that, everything will be fine..."

"I don't want it!" Ryou screamed, struggling under Bakura's grasp. "Don't do this, Bakura! Please!"

"You don't want the anesthetic?" Bakura frowned, sitting back slightly. "I don't want this to hurt for you, Ryou—"

"Stop it stop it _stop_," Ryou cried, trashing. Bakura had to fight to hold him down. "Why are you doing this?!"

"Dad taught me."

Ryou hated it. Hated the way everything was blamed on their father, hated the fact that it was the reason for _everything_—his rape when he was ten, the beginnings of a carving on his back now...

"He neglects you, Ryou!" Bakura was suddenly screaming, and through the thick haze of his fear Ryou could see tears brimming at the edges of his maddened eyes. "You know it! He doesn't teach anything to you! He doesn't want to make you his fucking perfect son!" He breathed, panting harshly. "But _I_ love you, Ryou. You're my perfect little brother." He bent down again, placing a comforting hand on the base of Ryou's spine, trying to soothe his trembling body. "I'm going to make you so _beautiful_..."

_"Why don't you ever take off your shirt, Bakura?"_

_Ryou was twelve when he asked this. Bakura looked at him questioningly. "Why?" he asked. Ryou frowned._

_"Isn't that what people do when they're having sex?"_

_Bakura seemed to think for a while before coming to a conclusion. "We're not having sex," he stated, as if it should be obvious._

_Ryou blinked. He felt as if something about that was wrong, as if Bakura was lying, but his brother seemed genuinely confused at his question. "...Oh," he said._

Ryou could barely think. He could feel his body, his mind, numbing to him. He couldn't feel it when Bakura pressed the knife to his back, cutting through the first few layers of skin.

"See, Ryou?" Bakura breathed from above him, but Ryou could barely hear anything. "I told you it wouldn't hurt."

_"You're right," fourteen year old Ryou smiled as he redressed. "I've finally gotten used to it. Doesn't hurt at all now..."_

Ryou didn't know how long it took, just then when he finally regained his sense, his back started to _burn_. "It—it hurts—" he gasped, voice weak. Bakura wasn't above him anymore, and Ryou suddenly got the overwhelming, suffocating feeling that Bakura had felt him to bleed. "H—hurts—!"

"Shh," a voice whispered, placing a reassuring palm over the excruciating cuts on his back, "everything's fine, as I promised."

When the warm hand left his back, Ryou was suddenly aware of linen cloths wrapped around him, from his chest to his torso.

_Fifteen year old Ryou blinked when he caught a flash of white under Bakura's shirt, blending back into the pale shade of his flesh right above the hemlines of his pants. He dismissed it, thinking it was just a random illusion._

_"Doesn't Bakura look amazing in this shirt, Ryou?" came a voice. Startled, Ryou whirled around to see his father's hands on Bakura's shoulders, a big smile on his face._

_It looked almost like a kimono—the neck of it was cut down into a triangle, it's sleeves huge and wavering. But that wasn't what had caught Ryou's attention—it was the white again, wrapped tightly around his form, disappearing under the start of Bakura's arms. Bakura turned then, blocking Ryou's view._

_When Ryou went into their room that night, Bakura was changing into his night cloths. His front was turned to the doorway, and Ryou arrived just in time to see the shirt slipping over his stomach. No white this time, Ryou noted._

_"What?" Bakura asked suddenly. Ryou startled. "Checking me out?"_

_"Bakura!" Ryou laughed playfully. "So what was that kimono for? The dance?"_

_"I'm never going to attend anything like that," Bakura said with disdain. "Dad was just making fun of me."_

Ryou didn't understand. Bakura cut up his back but took time bandaging him, taking care of his wounds. Did he really love him like he said? _I—I've always doubted him after things like this,_ Ryou realized. _It's okay. Bakura loves me, and I love him back..._

_That didn't hurt, anyways._

"Would you like to see something, Ryou?"

Ryou blinked, turning slightly. Bakura had a grin on his face, a wide, maddening one. Suddenly, Ryou felt he didn't want to know.

"...Okay," he said.

Bakura turned to his back, then. He started to take off his shirt.

Under it was the picture of a heart—the kind a child would understand. It was engraved deeply into the flesh of his back, just barely having scarred over. The heart was coloured in sloppily; deep cuts, one next to another, so filled Ryou thought chunks of his flesh could fall off.

Bakura's voice was frightening in its sincerity. "See, Ryou?" he turned back to his front, stepping forward with a smiling gaze. "I told you dad taught me well."

Suddenly, Ryou could feel the curves and points of a similar symbol on his back, cut deep, each slice so close to each other. "We match now, Ryou."

Up until now, Ryou had never felt so much fear in his life. For once, Bakura wasn't going to comfort him, wasn't going to stop. "B—Bakura—!"

"Look at this, Ryou," Bakura breathed in a disturbing, appreciative tone—he took a piece of clothing from the floor that Ryou had never noticed was lying there, holding it up so that Ryou could see it perfectly.

"Time for dress up..."

It was a nice day, after all.

* * *

I keep making new stories even though that's the last thing I'm supposed to do. At least this one doesn't have to be updated.

What's happening with my writing? Is it becomming very shit or is it already that way?


End file.
